by Tara Ford
Guiltily, Tiff threw the binoculars into the very back of the drawer and slammed it shut. Edging backwards, she moved towards the door. Cringing and cussing to herself, she vacated the room and closed the door firmly behind her. She’d been caught spying.
Housework was the only normal thing that Tiff could think about doing. What could she say, if questioned by Georgie? She was admiring the beautiful view? Checking out the wildlife? Watching the horses? Studying the mating ritual of the common, immorally debauched jogger? But why was she looking into Georgie’s garden? Trying to focus the binoculars? She had tripped up and the binoculars had accidentally veered to the left? She was checking out the sexy cement mixer? It was no use. Tiff could not think of a plausible reason for spying into Georgie’s garden. She would simply have to avoid the woman. Forever.
One long, blonde hair may have been purely coincidental. But two? Three?
Joe had been asleep for over an hour, so Tiff had avoided the hoovering, not wanting to wake him. She had decided to sweep the kitchen floor and collect the dirt up with the dustpan and brush. It was like the first strand of pure blonde hair had jumped out on her, saying, ‘here I am – look at me!’. The second strand had been far more elusive and was discreetly curled into a corner of the kitchen floor. The third was lounging on the floor on the opposite side of the kitchen. Three long, blonde hairs. Obviously Georgie’s. They had to be. Yet Tiff knew that she had hoovered thoroughly last week. So where had they come from? The same old sick feeling crept back into her throat. Why was it that every time she was home, something would happen or appear, to make her feel suspicious of Joe’s actions? She emptied the contents of the dustpan into the bin, with a feeling of disgust.
It was sitting on the dining table – just waiting to be read. It was like it had been left there purposely. One way or another, the contents would reveal the truth – surely.
Tiff snatched Joe’s phone up from the table and unlocked it. The inbox had only two message threads in it. Her own and Wayne’s. Working nimbly, she tapped on the message thread from Wayne. Strangely, there was only one message received from him, which had been sent weeks ago. In fact, it was when Joe first played golf with him. It read: Hello mate, booked 18-hole for 8-15am. Be at mine for quarter to. Wayne. So Joe did have Wayne’s number before their first game of golf?
Tiff stared at the date and time of the message. Where were the other ones from Wayne? Where were the ones that Wayne had supposedly sent when he was hungover last Sunday? Why would Joe delete all messages apart from one old one? Surely it was easier to delete a whole thread, rather than individual ones?
It was happening all over again. The pain of mistrust was starting to nibble away at her. Deeper and sharper. She couldn’t run away again. But they’d had such an exceptionally, emotionally charged closeness earlier. Did she need help? Was it all in her head? Was her mind playing tricks with her? Or was it really Joe that was the problem? The blonde hairs were a fact – they definitely weren’t in her mind.
Leaving the housework, midway, Tiff slumped on to the sofa, feeling weary and drained. The journey this morning, and the torrid patch-up with Joe had taken it out of her. She closed her eyes and drifted off, into a troubled, uneasy sleep.
Chapter 26
Joe staggered down the stairs, looking half asleep. He squinted his eyes as the late afternoon sun poured through the window, behind Tiff.
Tiff had just woken too but she was instantly wide-eyed and alert. The uncertainty of earlier slowly crept back into her mind as she pulled herself up from the sofa.
“You been asleep too?” Joe muttered before heading out to the kitchen.
“Yes, I came over all tired.” She followed him through and sat down on a chair. “I was trying to tidy up but I gave up half way through.”
“Don’t worry about it babe – we’ll do it all together, tomorrow.” Joe turned and offered a cheeky grin. “In the meantime, we’ll have this,” he said, holding up an empty mug, “and then get showered. Don’t forget I’m taking you out tonight.”
Tiff nodded. “Oh yes, I’d forgotten about that. Where are we going?” Blonde hair, blonde hair.
“I know a really nice country pub and restaurant. It’s way out in the sticks – you’ll love it.”
“OK.” Tiff furrowed her brows in puzzlement. “Have you always known about this place then or is it a new discovery?”
“It’s… err… well, I’ve always known about it. I’d just forgotten about it,” Joe replied, falteringly.
Blonde hair, blonde hair. “OK, good.” Tiff peered out of the patio doors. “Fence looks better now.”
“Yeah, fitted perfectly.” Joe continued to prepare two mugs of tea without turning around. “New one slid straight in.”
“Did Georgie bring it round then?”
Joe stopped, midway through spooning sugar into the mugs and turned around. “No, I went to get it.” His eyes had opened wide now, compared to their half-closed, sleepy state a few minutes ago.
“Oh, OK… I just wondered if she’d been round here at all.”
“No, not at all. I’ve been at work all week and… and I went to bed early most nights, except when I was talking to you on the phone.”
“Hmm…” Tiff turned the corners of her mouth down, thoughtfully. “I just thought that maybe she’d been here. You know, to bring the fence round. Or to pop in and ask you when you were going to collect it.”
“No,” Joe said, adamantly, “she hasn’t been round here. I bumped into her and she asked about it.”
“Hmm… O…K…”
Joe peered at her worriedly. “Why do you say that?”
“What?”
“Like you said it. Hmm… O…K…”
“I was just saying OK.” Tiff eyed him with skepticism.
“It’s the way you said it, babe. I feel like we’re back to the, not believing what I say.”
“Not sure what you expect me to believe when I find hundreds of blonde hairs all over the filthy kitchen floor.” Tiff cringed, she’d blurted it out without thinking it through. She’d embellished on the state of the floor and exaggerated the number of hairs. And it sounded terrible.
Joe stood in silence and met her eyes. He searched her face, desperately trying to find answers. “Where?”
“I’ve got rid of them all now. In the bin.” She averted her gaze away from Joe’s. She was starting it all again. She knew it. She just couldn’t stop it. “I wouldn’t have found them all if I’d hoovered. But I was being thoughtful by not hoovering. I didn’t want to wake you so….”
“So?”
“So I got down on my hands and knees, being the considerate person I am, and swept the floor with the dustpan and brush.”
“But…” Joe’s face turned pale.
“So where did they all come from?”
“Babe – I really don’t know.” Joe thought for a moment. “I’ve had the doors open. It was hot on a couple of evenings, when I was cooking my dinner.” He shrugged his broad shoulders and peered at Tiff, pleadingly. “Maybe they blew in here from next door… or something?”
“Oh dear.” Tiff shook her head and buried her face in her hands.
“Now, hang on a minute, Tiff.” Joe’s tone of voice had changed. “I do not know why you would find blonde hair everywhere. Isn’t this all getting a bit out of hand now?” he blasted, tiresomely.
“You’re the one getting out of hand, Joe. You’re obviously stressed out by it. I can hear it in your voice.”
Joe rolled his eyes and tutted. “I am getting stressed out with you, babe. Don’t you see it? It’s starting all over again. Didn’t that mean anything to you, earlier?” He pointed to the ceiling, indicating upstairs.
Tiff stared at him, speechless.
“It meant something to me. I thought it showed how much I love you. I thought you would have felt that too.”
Tiff continued to look fixedly at her beloved Joe, fighting back the emerging tears. Then she darted her eyes away
from his and blinked rapidly as she stared out of the patio doors.
“Tiff – please. Let’s not go back to that.”
“That?”
“To how things were getting before you went away.” Joe tentatively carried two hot drinks to the table. “I thought we’d…”
She continued to look out of the doors. “What?”
“Ended all of that.” His voice had returned to a low, husky whisper.
“So did I.”
“So, let’s leave it – please babe.”
“Like that wouldn’t you – make it easier wouldn’t it?”
“What are you talking about?” He pushed her mug across the table, under her nose.
“If I wasn’t so intuitive – would that make things easier for you?”
Joe brushed his thickset hands through his ruffled hair. “No, babe. Would it make it easier for you if we put this bloody house up for sale and moved somewhere else?”
“Oh don’t be ridiculous.” Tiff grabbed her drink, took a couple of slurps and then clutched it to her chest.
“I’m being serious.”
“Well, what am I supposed to think? I come home after a week away to find long blonde hairs all over the place.”
“I don’t know where they came from. I wish to God I did.”
“So, you think they just blew in here, from next door?” Tiff’s voice was filled with sarcasm. “Is that what I’m supposed to believe?”
“Believe what you like, babe. All I know is that I love you, I’d sell this house and move for you, I’d cut my right arm off if I could prove to you that there is nothing funny going on and I’d take any lie-detector test that you wanted me to.”
Tiff was still glaring, pointedly at the doors. She returned her mug to the table and rubbed her hands around her face. Text messages.
“Babe – I want to take you out for a nice meal and a few drinks tonight. Just you and me. I want to prove to you how much I care about you. It’s a beautiful, romantic place.” He reached across the table and beckoned for her to hold his hand. “Please.”
Text messages… can’t mention text messages… I’m such a snoop. He doesn’t deserve this – maybe I’m wrong. Save the messages for later, perhaps. “I’ll…” Tiff ignored his hand lying on the table outstretched, palm facing upwards, with beckoning fingers. “I’ll go and have a soak in the bath. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry babe. Be happy and believe in me. I don’t have a clue how the floor got covered in blonde hair.”
She had to make the effort, although it really was burdensome to search through her wardrobe, trying to find the right clothes to wear, style her hair and apply lashings of make-up. But it would be worth it. She would have Joe salivating over her. She would have him right where she wanted him and then, maybe, she could even bring up the subject of deleted text messages while he gazed lovingly into her eyes across a candlelit table for two. But hadn’t Joe had enough of all the suspicious remarks and the sarcastic comments? Yes, probably, he had. But she couldn’t carry on a true and loving relationship with him unless she found out all the answers to her questions. She was so terribly confused.
She stood up and glanced at herself in the long mirror. Wearing a navy-blue shift dress, red shoes and accessories to match, her hair was swept up into a messy bun on the top of her head, while several strands framed her tiny face, creating an overall glamorous look. A rush of anger filled her. Georgie often had her hair up in messy buns. Should she have hers down? No, that was being simply ridiculous. And anyway, her messy bun looked much better than Georgie’s ever could.
Joe entered the bedroom with a towel around his waist. “You look stunning babe. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to have you. You are so beautiful.” He moved around the bed and placed both hands on her tiny waist. “I love you, Tiffany Cuthbert – and don’t you ever forget it.”
Tiff smiled waveringly and looked down. “I’ll try not to. Come on, get dressed. I’ll wait downstairs.”
Joe was right. The old, converted cottage, deep in the centre of the New Forest, was indeed, quaint and romantic, just as he had said. He had been a true gentleman all evening. He’d opened doors for her, assisted her across the pebbled car park, situated on the right of the thatched cottage and treated her like a true lady. How could she not fall in love with him all over again. He smelt gorgeous. He was clean shaven and wore a pair of black chinos and a plain purple, short-sleeved shirt. His glorious tan accentuated the whites of his eyes and his perfectly aligned teeth. His voice had been low and husky all evening and he had done nothing but compliment her, express his feelings for her and talk about how lucky he was. He had also spent some time reminiscing about their lives together, so far.
“Do you remember when I took you up in that balloon?”
Tiff nodded her head and smiled, before she took a sip from her third glass of wine. Joe had insisted that she have a few relaxing drinks during the evening and that he would drive. She hadn’t argued, on the contrary she agreed that she needed to relax a bit more.
The food was amazing and it had been noticed that the restaurant was the proud owner of a cordon bleu chef.
Tiff placed her spoon into the tall glass and sat back in her chair. “I’m absolutely full.”
“Aren’t you going to finish that?” Joe pointed to the small amount of strawberry ice-cream left in the bottom of her tall glass.
“No, I can’t. Think I might pop.”
Joe flicked his eyes around the restaurant and then beckoned for her glass. He pushed his own towards her and swapped them over.
“I don’t know where you put it all,” she said, giggling as the effects of the wine began to take a hold on her, despite all the food she’d eaten. Text messages – not going to spoil a lovely evening. Forget about them Tiffany Cuthbert… at least for now.
Tiff propped her chin up and watched him devour the last few mouthfuls of the fancy Knickerbocker Glory. She loved him dearly. She fancied him madly. She feared losing him dreadfully.
The last glass of wine had done it. Tiff had to cling on to Joe with an iron-like grip as they traversed the pebbled car park. The journey home was a blur and she could do no more than to put her hands in her lap, lower her head and stare downwards as her alcohol addled mind drifted around aimlessly.
Once they were home, she kicked off her shoes in the living room and took the shortest route straight to Joe’s trouser belt. Fervently, she undid it and pulled it free from the loops.
Joe looked down at her, surprised. “Are you OK babe?”
She ignored his question and continued to undo his trousers.
He laughed and reached behind her back to unzip her dress. Their garments fell to the floor at the same time. He undid his shirt buttons, feverishly, and whipped the shirt from his back while she watched and swayed a little.
Then he pounced. A frantic attack ensued. Across the sofa, against the walls and finally ending on the floor in a crescendo of heat, moisture and moans of pleasure.
“Tiffany Cuthbert,” Joe slurred, sedated by the surge of hormones filling his head, “you are a sex maniac…” He drifted off to sleep, lying naked on the sofa.
“Joe.” She shook his shoulder and then pulled her dress over her head. “Wake up – you can’t sleep there.” A grunt and a snuffled snore signaled that he had already slipped into sleep. “Joe – wake up.” She pulled his arm out from under him. “Joe, come on, let’s go to bed.”
He stirred and looked up hazily.
“Bed,” demanded Tiff. “Come on.” Again she pulled at his arm.
Heaving himself up from the sofa, he grabbed his clothes, staggered to the staircase and pulled himself up each step, laboriously.
Following closely behind, Tiff admired his buttocks as he climbed the stairs. That was just the most rampant sex they’d had to date and she’d initiated it. There was no way anyone was going to be better than her, when it came to having sex with Joe Frey. She’d practically knocked him out and blown him away
with her amorous advances and active participation throughout. And that was how it was going to stay. How could he be interested in anyone else when the dynamics between them were so electrifying?
Chapter 27
Opening her eyes to the glare of the sunshine pouring through the window, Tiff squinted and turned her head to look at the time – 9.35am. She was surprised she’d slept so long. The other side of the bed lay empty and she assumed Joe would be downstairs making some breakfast.
The house was strangely quiet as she went down the stairs, wearing just her pyjamas and a pair of slippers. As she reached the dining room, she realised that Joe was not there or even in the garden. “Joe?” she called, backtracking to the stairs. “Joe…” She swallowed back the bitter taste of mistrust, rising from her stomach – the only place she hadn’t looked was her craft room. Was he in there? If he was, what was he doing in there? She tiptoed back up the stairs. If she was going to find him in there, she wanted to catch him out – whatever he might be up to.
He wasn’t there.
Tiff sighed heavily, was she becoming completely neurotic? She returned to the dining room and walked over to the kitchen. Immediately, she caught sight of a piece of paper lying on the worktop, next to the kettle.
Morning babe,
I’m next door, didn’t want to wake you this morning and thought you’d need the lie-in after attacking me so spiritedly last night. Won’t be long, then we can crack-on with the house. Love you xx
Tiff read the note again, looking for surreptitious clues between the lines. Next door? Why had he gone next door? How could he be so brazen about going next door? After everything they’d been through…
Perhaps he had meant Betty and Cyril’s house. Why would he go there? Tiff took a mug of coffee upstairs and started to get washed and dressed as a cloud of undesirable mistrust hovered above her head. If he was at Betty and Cyril’s house, why didn’t he just say that in the note? Was he deliberately trying to stir things up between them? Sitting down heavily on the bed, she rubbed her forehead wearily. She wasn’t in need of more sleep, just a break from the rage and self-destructive envy that she couldn’t shift. However ridiculous it might all seem in the heat of their intimate moments.
